Some
things are funny. Some stories are true. Here’s a true story about something
funny. Before you read this, you should know that I teach first grade. That I
love it. But also, that some classes are more…spirited….than others. And that
sometimes there’s not much you can do in life, but stand back and watch it
unfold around you.
St.
Patrick’s Day fell on a Saturday. Because the classroom is the natural breeding
ground for holiday odds and ends, and Monday would be too late to do much for
it, we started exploring the realm of the Irish a whole week before the actual
date. We read books about leprechauns, wrote about how we would spend our gold,
discussed possible trap options, and stressed the importance of the color green
to all within earshot.
On
Tuesday of this week, three of my girls snuck took some
crayons with them to recess. Keep in mind; these are my good girls, my eye of
the storm in my class of chaos. They are dependable and sweet and can follow
two step directions. I adore them. However, on this particular Tuesday, their
motives were a bit, shall we say, cloudy. They huddled together all recess and
drew a mural of illustrations on the playground’s concrete benches. Red, blue,
green, people, animals, hearts, zigzag lines, swirly lines, the whole shebang.
Now,
you may not know this, but crayon is not meant for concrete. It doesn’t really
come off of concrete. At least, not without some pretty intense chemical solutions
and a whole lot of scrubbing. After calling three less-than-thrilled parents,
and doing actual research online for how to get the stuff off, it was decided.
All three girls (and their moms supervising) would be responsible for spending
their lunch recess the following day cleaning, in front of everyone. The point
of this tangent story is to tell you that it was only Tuesday. And I was
already in custody of three young ladies making headlines in the principal’s
office. And these are my ‘good’ ones. It is of no consequence that all the
other kids were jealous that the three girls got to use soap and water and
special sponges at recess, and were begging to have a turn. Ridiculous.
Moving
on to Thursday. Trying to put the past in the past, all of my darling students
are at recess, labor free. As I head out to bring them inside, I am greeted by
the recess aide…and seven of my students. Apparently the crew had spent their
entire recess digging up the playground field. I surveyed the damage. Huge
pieces of grass and land, gone. Craters. Tunnels. A massive mess, and a clear
eyesore, and a danger to any other child running along that path.
Now,
I have no idea where this aide was during this excavating expedition. These
kids had made the most of their time, and it was obvious they had had quite a
bit of it, but whatever. I was furious. We marched back inside to the tune of,
“I am SO disappointed in you. I cannot BELIEVE that this was a choice you made.
Did you EVEN SEE what that field looked like when you were done? You have NO
IDEA what you have done, and just how SERIOUS this is!” By the time we reached
the classroom, the seven were crying. The reminder of the class was doing that
whole eerie silence thing, where they sense danger at making the slightest sound.
The
infamous seven now have their heads down, and I get the rest of the class onto
an activity so I can figure out what to do next. It was relayed to me that only
six of the kids had done the actual digging. One had stood in the group and
watched them. I knew I was sending the group to their doom in a few moments,
and would be calling parents, and it would not be pretty. I decided that the
onlooker didn’t quite deserve that fate, not quite. Instead I took him out in
the hall and gave him a lecture that breathed fire. About the seriousness of
what had happened, and how by watching and doing nothing to stop it, he was
just as guilty as the perpetrators. In the world of adults, he was an
accomplice to a crime. Blah blah blah, some hints at possible jail time, you’ve
hurt our mother earth, the usual. I sent him back inside. I motioned for the
six to join me.
We
walked to the principal’s office in silence. When I brought them in, it was
clear she had been expecting them. She had been notified immediately of course.
As I left them there, I just remember thinking how happy I was that I wasn’t a
principal. I mean, this crazy awful damaging thing had happened, and I was able
to send the kids to her. She would hear them out, weigh the consequences, scare
them out of their wits, and all would (eventually) be well. If I had been the
principal, I have no idea of what I would have done. I will, however, tell you
what she did.
About
twenty minutes after I left my sobbing six in her care, my classroom telephone
rings. “So…I’m sending them back, they’re on their way right now. I…uhh…I can’t
punish them.” “Uhh…what?” “I can’t punish them. Nicole, they were
digging for leprechauns.” Dead air. “They were digging for leprechauns, and
they thought if they worked together, like you teach them to (true), and were a
team, then they would find them faster and more “efficiently”. (That is exactly
what I say…) The kids said they planned to use the gold to buy more math books,
because you love teaching math so much.” Honest to God. “I’ve never seen such
honest faces Nicole. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t punish them.” “Okay,
well…okay.”
At
this point, six tear stained faces appear at the doorway. I get off the phone,
and my mind is racing. When I saw these kids last, I was really REALLY upset
with them. The whole class saw that I was, I can’t just shrug it off, I would
lose face forever, or at least until June, and the fact that it’s still March
and I have kids mixing leprechaun hunting with mild vandalism means that I need
all the face I can get. So I do the only thing I can think of to do. I pull
them all together in the hallway, and try to explain. “So… you see….(deep
breath) leprechauns put very powerful enchantments over their
houses. (Pause) It can be really dangerous if you run into them on accident. I
just had this horrible thought that you might get hurt, and if
ANY ONE of you had gotten hurt by doing this…it would have broken my heart. I
was worried, and scared, and I overreacted. I’m really sorry.” The kids were
very forgiving. Outbursts of “We didn’t know!” and “We’re really sorry!”
reached my ears in multitudes. My brain was reeling.
We
ended up having a class discussion about construction procedures, and permits,
and blueprints. For the reminder of the year, students had to (on their own
time) write up a proposal for any major event they wanted to participate in. I,
as their supervisor, would need to sign off on them before they could begin
work. They actually did this a few times. In April, I had a group of four
students form a ‘Classroom Council’ and they stayed in from recess for a whole
week, planning an Easter egg hunt for the rest of the class, getting permission
for each new idea from yours truly.
That
is my March story from that particular year. It is still circulating around the
school from time to time. When I finally grow gray, I’m finding my seven
grayest hairs and naming them all after those kids. Seven? Oh yes, remember
unlucky number seven I pulled out in the hall for my lecture. The one I thought
I was letting down easy? The poor kid got the worst of the whole thing really.
I did feel bad once I recognized this, but there was really nothing to be done.
Sometimes, there just is really not much else you can do. Except require
proposals. And issue permits. And make it through another day.
